


you and i were born in motion

by oryx



Category: MIU404 (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28359429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: The MIU is invited to attend a wedding; Ibuki has thoughts on the topic.
Relationships: Ibuki Ai/Shima Kazumi, implied Hano Mugi/Kikyou Yuzuru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	you and i were born in motion

**Author's Note:**

> suuuper corny but i think i'm justified all things considered. i figure february was the last time anyone responsible was having a regular wedding this year so. feb it is. (and ibuki's line about his name is bc ai is written as 藍 'indigo')

  
They both peer down at the cards that have been pressed into their hands, “You’re Invited!” embossed in shiny gold lettering.

“What’s this supposed to be?” Ibuki says blankly.

“Tetsu’s wedding, obviously,” Jimba says with a frown. “Both him and Sae-chan said to make sure you got yours, so there you go.”

“Haa? The hell are they inviting us for?”

At that, Jimba-san’s face instantly scrunches up with emotion. “Get this: he said – he said he wanted to ‘extend the courtesy’ to his old man’s coworkers who’ve been looking out for me all these years. Can you believe that?” His eyes look a little misty. “He’s so grown up now, ain’t he? When’d that happen, y’know? It’s crazy. Just yesterday he was… he was gettin’ in fights after school… And now… What a good kid. What a – ”

“Jimba-san,” his new partner calls from down the hall. Seto, his name is. A persistently gaunt, weary-looking guy, which hasn’t been helped much since the two of them were paired up. “We’re supposed to be in a briefing right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimba shouts back. He shakes off his sentimental mood as quick as it set in, pointing an accusatory finger in their faces. “You idiots better be there to see my boy get hitched. No excuses accepted.”

“Sure,” Kazumi says with a half-smile, lifting the invitation in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”

“Ibuki Ai never passes up a party,” Ibuki calls at Jimba’s retreating back, and receives a wave in return before he’s gone, jogging around the corner and out of sight.

“Do you even own a suit?”

“’Course I do. You’ve seen that handsome pic of me in my employee file, right?” Ibuki grins.

“Mmhmm. And how many years ago was that taken?”

Behind today’s pair of glasses, the gears of Ibuki’s mind seem to be working fruitlessly as his guileless grin remains in place.

“Right,” Kazumi says, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. “Next opportunity, I’m coming over and you’re showing me this suit.”

(“See? The jacket still fits,” he insists.

He gives a too-quick thumbs up and the sound of a seam tearing can be heard. His face falls. Lifts his arm slowly to find that a small hole has formed along the side stitching.

From where he’s seated at the table nursing a beer, Kazumi presses his fingertips to his temple tiredly.)

“So, wait. Run this by me again. Why’re you here with me?”

He takes a dark grey jacket with a faint black pinstriping pattern and holds it up against Ibuki, who tilts his head to the side, wide-eyed and puppy-like. Kazumi mutters “no” a moment later and puts it back on the rack.

“Because I don’t trust you to get it done on your own,” he says. “Or especially get it done well. And I’m not showing up to a wedding with you looking like a human disaster.”

“Oh?” Ibuki leans in with a smile. “Shima-chan, you already decided we’re going together? You’re making me feel all fluffy inside.”

Kazumi pauses with his hand on the lapel of the next jacket on the rack.

“That’s,” he says. An odd sensation – nervousness, almost, though what for he’s not sure – begins to needle its way up the length of his spine. He feels displaced for a moment, existing slightly off-center. Shakes himself in attempt to be rid of it.

“It seemed like a foregone conclusion,” he says briskly. “Don’t tell me you managed to succeed at picking someone up while I wasn’t looking.”

“You know the ladies love me. But. No,” he admits, glancing away with a pout, hands jammed into his back pockets. “I’m just cursed to love the girls who have someone already. The universe is conspiring against me, Shima. Making our paths meet at the wrong time. That’s what I think.”

“Of course,” Kazumi says drily. An inexplicable feeling of relief gradually eases away the tension in his shoulders as he continues browsing. 

They meander through three more rows before Kazumi stops and frowns. None of these drab colours seem right, is the problem.

“Excuse me, sorry,” he says, flagging down a passing employee. “Do you have anything in red we could look at?”

“Red, huh?” Ibuki echoes, as they’re led to one of the fitting areas, pointing to himself with a sly smile. “Is that my colour? Even though my name is blue? Do you think of me fondly every time you see it?”

Kazumi can feel his mouth twitch. “Don’t get carried away, idiot. It just seemed more fitting than grey.”

If he _were_ the type to assign colours to people, though. It wouldn’t be a bad choice, he supposes.

“Whoa, this _is_ pretty sexy.” Ibuki turns to examine his reflection in the floor-length mirror from another angle. It’s an ideal shade of red – neither too overwhelming or too dark and muted. Pomegranate colour, he finds himself thinking. The shop employee has even managed to wrestle Ibuki out of his hoodie and into a white dress shirt for a better idea of how it might look in full. “You always have the smartest ideas.”

Kazumi hums in agreement.

“You gonna make me wear a tie, too?” Ibuki asks, wandering over to inspect the selection of them hanging on a nearby display.

“I mean. I’m not holding my breath for it.”

“Oh, look at this,” he laughs, holding up a black one with a pattern of tiny red hearts stitched into it. “Cute, right? And it matches, even.”

He pops the collar of his dress shirt and drapes it around his neck, leaning closer to the mirror as he fiddles with it. Two questionable knots of fabric later and he’s looking deeply perturbed, tongue poking out as he concentrates.

“Alright, come here,” Kazumi sighs. He turns him around and pulls him in close, reaching up to undo the mess he’s made and start over again. “I did this almost every day for a while when I was in the First Division, you know.” (Not that he was ever much good at it himself. He can’t count the number of times a higher up got on his case for ‘looking sloppy,’ until he finally gave up on it entirely and switched to vests. But doing it for someone else – that’s far easier, he’s found.) “You’re lucky there’s no dress code at the MIU.”

“Right? Then I wouldn’t be able to show you people what real fashion is.”

“And what a loss that would be for us.”

His fingertips brush the hollow of Ibuki’s throat as he loops the fabric through. He can feel Ibuki looking at him steadily in the following silence. Meets his eyes briefly to find his expression thoughtful, studying; only a hint of a perfunctory smile. It’s weighty, that look – as if it were being pressed down into his skin with enough force to bruise.

He dips his head a fraction more, leaning in to allow Kazumi to reach back and smooth down his collar, leaving them standing close enough that the space in between feels like a tangible thing. Kazumi’s hands slide over his shoulders once he’s finished, lingering there a few seconds longer than they should, and. 

He steps away, and there is a moment where he thinks he sees a shadow pass across Ibuki’s face before he straightens his posture and grins brightly. “You’re so dependable, Shima-chan,” he says, singsong, turning to admiring his reflection again.

“Somebody has to be.” He wonders why his voice comes out a bit strange. Thin. Like someone had just been gripping him by the throat and cutting off his air.

“Where would I be without you,” Ibuki says quietly, and then, louder: “Oi, mister salesman! I’ll take this one! You’ll pay for it, right, Shima?”

“Keep dreaming.”

Maybe, possibly, things have been a little strange lately.

Not unpleasant, or even awkward, really, but simply… off. In every long, quiet moment it’s as if Ibuki is about to say something significant, something world-shaking, only for the moment to end, and the usual rapport to resume, leaving Kazumi feeling like he just missed a step on a staircase. 

Something’s different, since that day at the marina. He just can’t quite put his finger on what.

The soon-to-be married couple picked a perfect day for it, in the end. It’s unseasonably warm for February, the sun a bright halo in a totally cloudless sky. Just three days prior he could still see his breath turn to white, and could’ve sworn there was a snow flurry, but today it’s as if the winter has all but gone in a snap.

“Captain! Hamu-chan!” Ibuki waves enthusiastically as they approach the church, guests milling about outside.

“For the forty-eighth time, Ibuki, I’m not your Captain anymore,” Kikyo sighs, but smiles a bit as she says it. Her sharply-cut suit is a pale purple, which he can’t help but notice matches the flowers on Mugi’s dress.

“It’s a spiritual connection thing,” Ibuki insists. “And can I just say, you are both looking radiant today.”

Kikyo gives him a once-over. “You don’t clean up so badly yourself. I assume you had some prodding.”

When her eyes meet Kazumi’s, there’s something about the look that seems to pierce right through him. A knife cutting down to the bone. She’s always been good at that. Making him feel like she knows every thought in his head, even when she obviously doesn’t. He clears his throat and glances away.

“No Yutaka today?” he asks.

“Well. We did offer to bring him,” Mugi says, tapping a finger against her chin. “Got him a cute little outfit and everything. But he didn’t want to come. He thinks anything to do with romance is ‘gross.’”

Kazumi huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right for his age.”

“I bet he’d change his tune real quick if it was one of his moms getting married, though,” Ibuki says with a grin. “On that note, Hamu-chan, just putting out the feelers here, what’s your opinion on being a dashing police officer’s bride – ”

Kikyo gives him a wry look to silence him. “Yutaka’s approval would depend on who we were marrying, I’d imagine.”

Mugi ends up catching the bouquet, in the end, after the ceremony is over and Jimba-san has cried his way through several handkerchiefs and they’re all congregated in the front of the church once again. One of the bridesmaids bobbles it at the last moment and it falls directly into Mugi’s hands with no effort on her part, whereupon she proceeds to stare at the flowers with wide, startled eyes. She turns and looks over to Kikyo, who gives her a fond, encouraging smile – that smile faltering and turning startled herself when Mugi offers her a white lily from the bouquet, reaching out to tuck it into her suit jacket pocket like a boutonniere.

“I’d say operation ‘dashing police officer’s bride’ might be a go after all,” Ibuki whispers in his ear, and cackles softly to himself, lacing his hands behind his head as he turns to head back to the car, silhouetted by the setting sun as he walks.

“Shima, you ever thought about getting married?”

He swirls the last few sips of wine around in his glass before draining it. Reaches over for Kokonoe’s forgotten glass and slides it across the table as a replacement. There’s no one to judge him here at the back of the reception hall. Just Ibuki, retired from celebrating to sit dutifully at his side, arms folded on the table and chin resting on top of them. Muted music and chatter from the other, brighter side of the hall drifts over, a glossy soap bubble they’re currently existing just outside of.

“Married to who?”

“One of your countless beautiful girlfriends, maybe.”

He snorts. “Oh, sure,” he says. Pauses. “Nobody’s ever lasted long enough to think about that.”

Ibuki hums in sympathy, though a moment later his expression brightens in a way that’s deeply worrying. “I know. What about – ”

“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it.”

“What about the Captain?” Ibuki says anyhow, despite the warnings, mouth curved into one of those gleefully stupid self-amused smiles. “I bet you’ve imagined it, huh? She walks down the aisle and falls into your arms, swooning, going ‘oh, Kazucchi, I’ve waited for this day—’”

He smacks him upside the head and receives an “ow, hey” in return. Kazumi almost catches himself laughing, but smoothes it away just in time.

“What kind of dumb bullshit are you on about now,” he sighs. “How does your imagination even conjure up these things?”

“What, you don’t think she’d call you Kazucchi?”

“I don’t think anyone in the world would ever call me that. Except maybe you.”

Ibuki laughs, cheeks dimpling, but it fades a bit as he sits there studying him, that same intent, contemplative look in his eyes as before.

“Have you given up on her?”

Kazumi considers this. Drains Kokonoe’s stolen wine glass as well. “Yeah,” he says finally. It feels like letting out a breath he’s been holding for far too long. “I think so. I think… we’re better as friends. Starting to realize that wanting anything else was a lost cause from the start.”

“Probably for the best, partner.”

“I – hold on,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you the one who gave me the whole ‘as long as you’re alive, there’s still a chance’ speech?”

Ibuki runs a thumb along his jawline. “I mean. A dead guy’s one thing. A cute chick with that kind of Shared Personal History, though. That’s a whole ‘nother issue. If I were the betting type, I wouldn’t bet on you, man.”

“Feel like I should be offended by that, but. Honestly, neither would I,” Kazumi mutters.

“How about me, then?” Ibuki leans his chin on his hand and gives him a winning smile. “As a marriage candidate?”

“Don’t we spend enough time together already?”

“That’s why it’s perfect, though! So many relationships fall apart ‘cause they couldn’t manage the cohabitation part. But we’ve already got that down.” He winks and makes an ‘okay’ sign with his fingers.

Kazumi rolls his eyes. “Does sitting in the car for hours and crashing on opposite couches at the office count as cohabitation? You can’t tell me you’d want me living in your apartment on our days off, too.”

“I would.”

His fingers, tapping mindlessly against his thigh, go still. He turns his head to look at Ibuki. He’s still smiling, though there’s something else there now – a nervous energy, a pleading look.

“We could do that, if you want,” he says. “Like how I was thinking of – of getting a new place before, but it fell through. It could be you and me instead.”

Kazumi stares back at him as a brittle, wound-tight feeling settles in his chest.

“What the hell are you saying,” he murmurs. “How many drinks have you had tonight?”

“I’m not even buzzed right now,” Ibuki says hotly. “I mean it. Shima. Hey, Shima.” His voice falters a bit when he says his name. He reaches haltingly for his hand where it’s resting on the table, fingers curling around his, and Kazumi jolts at the touch, wide-eyed. “You and me, we could just get married, right? It’d make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“What are you – ” His pulse is loud in his ears as he whips around to see if anyone has wandered into their dark back corner. The bride’s aunt and uncle are wandering dangerously close. He grabs Ibuki by the wrist and hauls him up. “Come with me.”

There are a few caterers milling about down at the other end of the hall outside the reception room, and so he does what feels like the only logical thing, shoving Ibuki into the walk-in coat closet, piling in after him and slamming the door behind them, fumbling for the light. Ibuki looks rumpled and oddly sad as he stands there surrounded by jackets in glow of the single dim bulb.

“What’s with you?” Kazumi demands. “What are you saying all of a sudden?”

“Do you not want to?”

That question hits him like an elbow to the ribs. “That’s,” he says. He makes a harsh, disbelieving sound, holding up a hand like he’s signaling a time-out. “That is not the issue here.”

“So then you do want to,” Ibuki insists.

Kazumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re asking if I want to get married.”

“Yeah.”

“The two of us.”

“Yeah!”

“Right. Okay. I’m curious. Is this something you’ve actually thought about? Like, at all? Or is this just one of your random whims?”

Ibuki’s brow furrows. “Um. Both?”

Kazumi gives him an unimpressed look.

“Maybe I hadn’t thought the word ‘married’ until now, but! Obviously I’ve been thinking about it. I can’t _stop_ thinking about it. Over and over again I keep…” His resolve returns abruptly as he steps closer to grab him by the arm, forceful, maybe a little desperate. “It’s supposed to be you and me, isn’t it? For the rest of our lives. It has to be.” He shakes his head. “I can’t picture anything else. Not anymore. Can you? Shima.”

Kazumi’s mouth has gone dry. He swallows hard.

“You – ” he starts, before shaking off the grip on his arm. “This can’t happen,” he says, trying to instill some kind of authority into his voice. “It just can’t. Do you. Do you get what kind of a fucking mess this could be? When we have to work together almost every day? When we’ve already… caused enough incidents to get us on some kind of internal watchlist? And you want us to. To what? To date? Are you kidding me?”

Ibuki’s jaw sets itself even harder. “You’re just making up excuses,” he says. “I can tell.”

That feels like another solid hit to the solar plexus.

Kazumi drags a hand through his hair. “Maybe!” He’s beginning to sound somewhat manic, an on-edge laugh underscoring his words. “Maybe I am, yeah. But. How can I just… say yes like it’s nothing? How could I…” His throat feels strangely tight as he glances away. “Every time. It’s always been me. The one who ruins things. Like some kind of. Bad luck charm.”

It’s just not how I thought it’d be with you, Kazumi. You’re different, than how you seem at first. I gave up that offer for this? You’re always working. Is your job more important than me? You’re so distant and unaffectionate sometimes.

_I don’t want to ruin this, too._

“It won’t happen this time,” Ibuki declares.

“Oh, is that right?” His laugh has turned sardonic. “Why’s that, Ibuki?”

“‘Cause I won’t let it.” He announces this decisively, with a nod as punctuation. Mind firmly made up.

“ _What sense does that make?_ ” Kazumi all but shouts.

But as he hangs his head and scrubs a hand over his face, exhaustion pulling at him, he finds that he believes him. How could he not? If Ibuki says that he’ll do something, he will. It’s as straightforward as that when it comes to him.

“You really are,” he says softly, “an absolute idiot.”

Though by this time of night they’ve all given up on looking put-together, his own tie shoved into his pocket, even so he reaches out to fix Ibuki’s lopsided collar, an inexplicable instinct. His hand drifts up, then, pressing his palm against Ibuki’s jawline, who leans into it with a pleased smile. He’s still smiling as Kazumi grabs him by the lapel of his suit and pulls him into a kiss. Hums contentedly against his mouth, hand curling around his waist as he deepens it.

If he’d had to guess, he would’ve imagined this different – frustrations boiling over, the two of them colliding at full force. But maybe that’s a long outdated model. They’ve been operating under a different metric for some time now. 

Although that doesn’t exactly affect Ibuki’s enthusiasm. His teeth drag across his lip with just a bit too much force, that hand on his waist beginning to drift suspiciously lower, and Kazumi puts a hand under his chin and pushes him back, giving him a flat look.

“Down, boy,” he says drily, and Ibuki grins, says ‘sorry, sorry’ as he leans in again.

The closet door swings open.

Kokonoe stands there, backlit by the bright lights of the hallway, frozen in place as he stares.

The two of them stare back.

“Oh, Kyu-chan,” Ibuki says. “You need your coat?”

“Um,” Kokonoe says. He seems to perform some sort of panicked mental calculation before giving a tense little shake of his head. “No, that’s. That’s okay, actually.”

And promptly closes the door again.

“I guess… I might as well stay for a little while longer,” he can be heard saying weakly, which is followed by a rousing cheer from what sounds like several Jimba family members as they lead him back to the party.

Kazumi puts his head in his hands with a groan as Ibuki nearly doubles over with laughter.

“Did you see his face?” he wheezes.

Kazumi fights off the contagious impulse to laugh as well, instilling his voice with tiredness as he says: “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but you realize this is already off to a bad start, don’t you? Like not even a minute in and something’s gone wrong.”

“Oh, come on. Kyu-chan isn’t gonna be weird about it. And he’d have to know at some point. I’d want him to come to ours, too. Wouldn’t you?”

“Ours.”

“Yeah! Our wedding.”

“Right, of course,” Kazumi says slowly. He attempts to straighten Ibuki’s clothes again to make him look slightly less suspicious before sticking his head out of the closet, scanning the hall for danger. Gives him an all clear sign as they exit. “Not to rain on your parade here, but you know that’s not actually legal yet for two men, right?”

“Wh – seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. You know, sometimes I wonder. How the hell you ever got promoted from police box when you don’t know anything about laws. Or most current events.”

Ibuki doesn’t seem to have heard that last part. He’s stopped in the middle of the hall, looking deeply affronted, a fire of righteous passion suddenly burning in his eyes.

“That’s so messed up!” he exclaims. “What kind of inequality is that? Isn’t it the twenty-first century? Isn’t it 2020? We should start a… a campaign or something. For the sake of justice, right? We should go to the police commissioner and announce that we – ”

“Absolutely fucking not. Please stop talking before you get fixated on this.”

Ibuki pouts.

“Anyway, never would’ve thought you’d be the type to be concerned about things being legally binding,” he continues airily. “Shouldn’t what matters most be how two people feel about their relationship?”

He realizes the absurdity of what he’s just said in the moment of silence that follows. Glances back to find Ibuki’s eyes shining, hands clasped together, mouth curving into one of those sickeningly, adorably sentimental smiles.

“Shima-chaaan! That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard you say!”

“Oh no,” he mutters, and doesn’t manage to sidestep fast enough to avoid being tackled in a hug.

It’s unassuming at first, casual, but as the seconds press on Ibuki’s grip begins to tighten, fingers twisting the fabric of his jacket, pressing his face against his shoulder. He’s running as freakishly warm as ever – a bit like being enveloped by a walking kotatsu.

“Shima,” he says, muffled against his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“…For what?”

“For meeting me.”

I should be the one saying that, he thinks.

There’s a window opening onto the reception floor right next to them, that same stodgy-looking aunt and uncle from before puttering past, but Kazumi can’t bring himself to push him away. Instead he reaches up to put a hand on the back of his head, curling his fingers into his hair.

“As if I had any choice in that, idiot,” he says, and can feel himself smile.


End file.
